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Gaurav Gurung Aug 2024
He asks me, what is humanity? I tell him;
We are as vast as a field of meadow,
Like the countless flowers that bloom,
Each of us, a different variety of flower,
Some, like the roses- Beauty with thorns,
Some, like the sunflowers- Guided by direction,
Some, like the tulips- Beauty with diversity,
Some, like the daisies- Innocent and jolly,
Some, like the lotuses- Adapting in harsh floras.

He asks me again, what is humanity? I tell him;
We are as spread as the distant Star field,
Like the countless stars that radiate,
Each of us shine and emit our own power,
Some shine brighter, their beauty we adorn,
Some are black, some white, all beautiful- God’s creation,
Some morph into comets! Such complexity,
Some are never discovered in the vast void- Not Golly!
Some radiate excellence, Differing are their auras.

He’s awestruck! Taken back by the beauty of humanity,
“However, there’s a catch”, I say
Humanity is as dead as a graveyard,
Such a hurtful place it is, containing a silence that kills silence,
A place so sinister, it breeds violence,
Arena of corruption, A colosseum of hatred,
Humanity is such a place which destroys the sacred,
“Who kills their mother?” Simply – Humanity,
You wouldn’t want to go there! It’s a ticket to insanity,
Humanity is as dead as graveyard! They **** their own kind,
Believe me boy, It’s not for your gullible mind!
A fictional poetic discussion between a father and his son... A brief philosophical insight into the poet's views about humanity! Enjoy folks
Thomas Harvey Aug 2024
The day is normal as any other day
Johnny wakes up for school with a note by his bed
His mom tells him to behave and apologies she couldn't stay
He gets up and combs the hair on his head

On the way to school he cuts through the rail-yard
He stops for a minute to put some pennies on the track
On the way out he slips past the old guard
Times dwindling down, he knows he has to pack up the slack

At school he’s greeted by no one
He sits alone in his class, dreaming of escaping
Pondering to himself if it could really be done
As he stares out the window at the landscaping

When school is out, he rushes to the local diner
He scarfs down enough food to feed a family of four
As if he hasn't had any food that's finer
After he's finished, he still asks for more

On the way home he collects his now flatted pennies
He tucks them away in his pocket
Back at home he has plenty
He’s saving up to buy a rocket

A rocket to fly away from here
To go somewhere only he will know
So, then he will no longer fear
If only he was able to go

By the time he gets home, the sun has faded away
He walks through the door and shuts it lightly
He looks to broken glass on the ground with a loss of words to say
And he holds his fist ever so tightly

Before he can take another step, he is pushed to the ground
He feels a drop of beer hit his face
He looks up and his father ask if his mother has been around
Johnny doesn't answer, his father calls ham a disgrace

A few more bottles are thrown in anger
Johnny is then thrown and locked in his room
He wishes she could have taken him with her
And not leave him to this doom

Johnny cries though the night
Praying for a chance to leave
To fly away like a kite
He wonders if his being too naïve

When he wakes the day is as normal as any other day
Johnny wakes up for school with a note by his bed
His mom tells him to behave and apologizes she couldn't stay
He gets up combs his hair and wishes his father was dead
neth jones Aug 2024
.
i launch from within                                                           ­                   
      the critical business of sleep and dreamwork          
                                                   and into the pre-furnished day
mucus skin                                            
like the first gobbed up evolver   to get turfed up on the beaches
i let go the veils   of those true solving agents
the motions     those treasurable scenes
of bloom and swoon tidal theatre
                     they disperse
and i tough out a self applied                      
                                   ­        measured  and subservient routine
          a hasty and unrewarding approach to   'productive'  business  
                                                              it­ brings me distaste
but   cements me in shared society
passer bys throw up their greetings
                                and i heave 'hellos' in return
Ambar Martin Aug 2024
¿Es pecado dar un grito ahogado para ser salvado del pozo oscuro en el que cada día nado?

¿En serio es tan malo buscar atención dañando mi propio ser? ¿O solo es una tonta acusación que hacen sin noción?

No lo dije, ni lo mostré, pero aún así, deseé que alguien lo viera, que alguien lo notará y me alejara del frío sentimiento que deja el filo cortando mi cuerpo.

Todo sería más fácil si lo hubiese hablado, este ciclo hubiera finalizado, las cicatrices no existirían y tal vez la culpa se iría.

Pero no pude, no pude y no puedo.

Las palabras se atascan en mi garganta y el resto de mi cuerpo es quien se encarga de dejarlas salir mediante finos cortes de los que después me voy a arrepentir.

Te pido que te pongas en mi lugar, y te des cuenta de que no me quiero victimizar, sino, que es mi manera de rogar un hombro en el cual llorar.
mi primer poema escrito :)
Demonstrate your aptitude
In counterfeiting crimes of passion
Lest we waver to the winds
Of mending trouble when in fashion
Little movements
Rising action
Burst the bubble
Sharp reaction
Tends to tilt the clever scales
Towards dull accord or thinning ration

Best we bide the time and hide
Slow lament, magenta tide

Dance a spell
Your mind’s at ease
Skippers faring distant seas
Appearing softly in the breeze
Clouds all whipped and whirled together
Quickly scripting subtle pleas
Damaged strings all strum in threes
Defeat
Defend
Repeat the senseless killing spree

Best we bide the time and hide
Slow lament, magenta tide

Testament in vestments
Checkered patterns flow and flee
The body to its heart of hearts
The home of disconnected dreams
Rip the buttons from the seams
Fronds of dripping tendrils scream
Within the mountain’s pitch
Beyond a pond of wild magic teems
Whispering in reverence
Rolling in reproach’s steam
Fill yourself in patchwork fables
Piece together narratives
Now represent the winning team

Best we bide the time and hide
Slow lament, magenta cried
Addition through subtraction
Is the banner of the warring faction
Collections of heroic action
Gilded slices
Framed in fractions
Imbibing the well
Gaining traction
Just enough to coax distraction

One step forward and another step Backwards…

Was it ever really ours to begin with?
No…
Is this a bad feeling you can sit with?
Hey!
Is everything better when it’s infinite?
Well…
Filling in the blanks of your war path
Go…
Disguising your ambitions as a rough draft
Stay!

They max out capacity
For competent destruction
When experience and cunning
And confident instruction
Lays down its fears
Wastes all its weapons
Succeeds in defeating
The tenets of justice
Consulting in tandem
With forces abroad
Gaining gilded grace
from God

One step forward and another step Backwards…

Was it ever really ours to begin with?
No…
Is this a bad feeling you can sit with?
Hey!
Is everything better when it’s infinite?
Well…
Filling in the blanks of your war path
Go…
Disguising your ambitions as a rough draft
Stay!

Approach the core
The idle center
All can stay
None may enter
Exchange your fate
For private venture
Gold arrays for carnal pleasure
Pair off in groups
To find the treasure
Waxing, waning
Mental pressure
Trauma can be hard to measure

One step forward and another step Backwards…

Was it ever really ours to begin with?
No…
Is this a bad feeling you can sit with?
Hey!
Is everything better when it’s infinite?
Well…
Filling in the blanks of your war path
Go…
Disguising your ambitions as a rough draft
Stay!

Afterwards they find themselves in quite the conundrum
Fifty-odd pounds of force swinging like a pendulum
No more battered heroes coming ‘round to defend them
Act against inaction
The final addendum

One step forward and another step Backwards…

Was it ever really ours to begin with?
No…
Is this a bad feeling you can sit with?
Hey!
Is everything better when it’s infinite?
Well…
Filling in the blanks of your war path
Go…
Disguising your ambitions as a rough draft
Stay!
Stay!
Stay!
MetaVerse Aug 2024
Repair the world that's broke n with a wrench,
For never can't a fixer.  Can't afford
To fix a mental meaning with a *****,
Though all the world's a floor of concrete poured.
Restore the restoration of the world,
And everything returns to right its place:
The lone construction worker spins betwirled
With bluebirds singing friendly in the face.
Time flies, and so do flying jəllyfish.
Since tempos fugue it, carp the dying day.
Go find a star and make a walrus wish
That aliens would pray away the gray.
The grass is greener if the other side
Where gerbils love and noon has never died.


Spitting up blood;
Living, dying,
What's its worth?
I feel as the Emerald Ash Borer,
Hated by those around me
And stamped upon
Until I am eradicated
Whilst those same people
Attempt to find some use from me
Before I am killed.
These are not loving societies,
Reflected in our treatment of others;
It was very nice to have known all of you.
TR3F1LD Aug 2024
in realness, I don't dig villains, although
there are some ways
villainous jerks are preferred
by me; ones with thE̲Y̲ hands blood-stained
without excuse, like usurpers, deserve
to be, like it was with European nations once, plagued
by a big misfortune, for sure
[the "Black Death" plague pandemic regarded as a big misfortune for Europe]
[to avoid misunderstandings: I don't mean then Europe deserved the Plague]
[the "European nations" part is used only to have a simile]
but, like someone with an RH̲-like mind frame
[Jason Todd as Red Hood from the "DC" universe]
I wouldn't mind 'em mU̲rked, like some works
of mine made as if by someO̲ne cray; guess I ain't
really the type who becomes fazed by dark ways
like someone walking through nocturnal suburbs (dark ways)
wouldn't mind a torturer of a guiltless pers. to get forced
to intense tortures that hurt
so much he'd admit he's a horrible ****
unless that **** meets the fourth of those horsemen before
the admission of his ******* occurs
[the fourth horseman of the Apocalypse is death]
don't confuse it fO̲r someone's door
taken off by a spetsnaz force in the course
of a storm if my mind seems unhinged according to yours
like a perp with no other means of ge[ɪ]tting rI̲d of
a corpse than to undertake a burial o[ʌ]f
it, ones watching rainbows should be digging deeper
["undertaker"; by "watching rainbows", I mean something like]
["being distracted by something nice"]
on how much this world A̲I̲n't like fairytale stuff
it's corruption that is a base of evil (corruption)
sim. to the astounding peninsula compound linked
to that psychopathic ex-KGB̲ heel (base of evil)
["KGB heel" is supposed to be read/pronounced with the stress on "B"]
so the wicked aren't really bothered by morals
and stuff; then why should injustice-perpetrating people
with power be treated like sO̲meone who's normal? (***** 'em)
those means of dealing with issues that make us civil
[journalism, massive peaceful protests]
[the independent court system, fair & transparent elections, etc.]
shouldn't be disregarded, of cO̲U̲rse, al—
[shouldn't be disregarded in normal circumstances, but under autocracy]
[or when organized crime groups are as powerful as the state]
[civil means aren't effective to change the status quo]
—though, in my view, like I've cracked a sA̲febox brimful
with paper cu[ʌ]rrency rO̲lls, jewe[—]ls
["dough in my view"]
it's V-/Red-Hood-like a[ɛ]ntiheroes
who're required to fight O̲nes from the circle
of so-called depraved supremos
[powerful members of the underworld & agents of authoritarian regimes]
for if you think a state as corrupt & infernal
as the North Korean one can be changed in legal
ways, it's pro[ɑ]b'ly white **̲rse y'all
are on, like a knight with his armor shining
sadly, such men o[ɑ]ftentI̲mes end
up a la Navalny (sadly)
rephrasing what I've tried to convey bY̲ the writing
if there's a large-scale fire po[ɑ]pping
I'd advise to deal with it by air water-bo[ɑ]mbing
"vigilante mind frame" by TR3F1LD (TRFLD) is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (to view a copy of this license, visit creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0)
Odd Odyssey Poet Jul 2024
Songs to a funeral;- a love they’ll caper to those
Who will use you, leave you when a conclusion is reached-
Bury you a hero without a cape; that seems to be a reach;
Sending you off with a eulogy and a good enough preach
Praises with sweet remarks; devour your memory like a peach

To those who only lived to tear your heart, who will shed tears,
But don’t expect it to be something so dear from their heart
You’ll lose your dignity, in their gossip during the after lunch
While you’re stuffed in a box, they’ll stuff leftovers in a lunchbox
Those you had owed, will be quick to call you a sly dead fox

They’ll wage wars, over all of your once questioned clothing
Claim it’s a war of their love, in a false sense they’ll hide
They’ll pose as friends, in pictures snipped for their timeline
Speak of all the good times they never shared, with a big smile
Say all of the goods things that you’d never hear as a reward
Cry for you not to go- during a service where they are so bored

And you too, will be so bored of such a song for your send off
-So funny that death can bring to life, the worst side of us all
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